Trapped with Sherlock
by JustFemke
Summary: Sherlock and John are trapped in a warderobe together caused by a case of Sherlock. So it's Sherlock's fault. Of course it's always his fault. Sherlock/John romance.


**PREFACE**

**Title: **Trapped with Sherlock

**Characters:** Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade.

**Rating: **T/M I really don't know, ok? Just take T with a bit of M.

**Warnings/Triggers:** They're trapped in a closet... I don't know if some people don't like reading about that.. well that's the main thing. Some mentioning of things to do with 'making love'? (I described that nicely you see. No really if you don't like stories who mention such things maybe you shouldn't read this.)

**Spoilers:** No spoilers might end up mentioning a case but... if you haven't watched Sherlock then why are you here?

**Pairings:** Sherlock/John eventually.

**Beta/Britpicker:** A lovely girl named Anna, follow her on Tumblr for her amazing posts: (link is on my profile).  
If she hadn't corrected this fanfic it would probably suck.

**Idea: **I saw some stories where they got trapped in rooms and elevators and such stuff so if you wrote a fic like that thank you for the inspiration.

**Summary:** Sherlock and John are trapped in a warderobe together caused by a case of Sherlock. So it's Sherlock's fault. Of course it's always his fault. Sherlock/John romance.

**Author's notes:** You would think that Anna would be tired of me by now but no she corrected this Fanfic again! God Anna you know I wouldn't be anything without you. I love you.

This Fanfic will be 3 chapters long.

**Sir Conan Doyle created all the wonderful characters, and the BBC gave them their good looks. I only created Monica Smith; the rest belongs to them.**

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**Trapped with Sherlock : Cheers**

"I swear to God , Sherlock if you've done this on purpose-"

"Oh, _honestly_, John! Why would I have done this on purpose?"

"Because you're a bloody great idiot- that's why!"

"You know, for an _idiot, _even _I_ can handle closing a door, John-"

"Yes, and it's resulted in us being _bloody well locked in_, for God's sake..."

Sherlock Holmes- tall, razor-cheekboned and midnight-curly-haired Consulting Detective- was trapped in a walk-wardrobe with none other than his assistant, _friend_ and doctor, John H. Watson. The doctor of which, with all the moderated self-control of a saint, heaved a deep sigh and refrained from thumping the younger gentleman on the proud nose... assuming he had enough room for the swing.

_This _cannot _be happening, not to me at least, _John fervently thought, head in his weathered hands, whilst his companion repeatedly slammed his lean but nonetheless sturdy frame against the automatically locked door once again.

Whilst the door wouldn't budge, and John knew so, he couldn't resist watching the supposedly intelligent man before him get into a bother about the situation. A) They were in a terribly confined space, which barely had room for any other position than standing; B) Said terribly confined space was located in a derelict, abandoned manor house just outside of main-city London, resulting in no signal and thus no means of aide; and C) In the last half-hour, John had steadily gotten frustrated with the man before him... whom would soon find being the cadaver _himself_ would not prove as interesting as previously speculated. However, John had recently dry-cleaned his coat, and pushed the temptation out of mind.

"Argh," John groaned from where he slumped against the wall, rubbing the heel of his hand against his thumping forehead.

Sherlock sighed in adamant petulance, and turned to John. His normally pale skin was flushed, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with perspiration as he panted, "Oh for... goodness... sake John... we will be... out of here... in no time at all..."

Suddenly, John watched as Sherlock bent over, hands clutching his knees as he tried to regain his breath. Absentmindedly, the doctor found himself wondering if Sherlock had a secret stash of cigarettes hidden away in his sock index again.

Resignedly, Sherlock then leant to study the keyhole, and John was left to stare at his own feet... unenthusiastic to spend another hour in close company of this huge, unflappable imbecile who, for all his boasts, wasn't even proficient enough to get them out of a _bloody cupboard._

"God!" Sherlock cried out, "how is it even _possible _to get stuck in a wardrobe, for crying out loud!" He slid his back down the wall, until he reached the floor, and friskily ran his fingers back and forth through his hair.

John struggled with his aging joints to join him on the ground, but their legs managed to fit snugly around each other. Sherlock remained silent and watched his blogger shuffle uncomfortably on the hard carpet below them.

"Lestrade will miss me soon enough," Sherlock eventually offered, his eyes shut and long, spindly digits steepled under his chin, "and he'll come to look for us... he is aware of our general location."

John stared at Sherlock, and exhaled a derisive laugh. "I'm sorry? _'Miss' _you?" he positively chuckled, "Sherlock, Greg'll be having the time of his _life _without you around, I'm sure."

Sherlock frowned and looked away, eyebrows furrowed. "... No need to be rude, John."

"Are you kidding me?" John roared, and Sherlock flinched in surprise in the half light. "I am stuck, in a bloody wardrobe, with a fucking idiot! And not _any_idiot- I mean Sherlock bloody Holmes! I have every right to be rude, _you _put me in this fucking shit situation!"

John looked away, breathing hard with anger, and Sherlock placed his hand gently in his lap. He couldn't look the detective in the eye- knowing that it wasn't worth bloody knuckled- but resolved to pay the man back upon their release.

"Do watch your language John- it indicates a limited vocabulary indicative of a stunted mind."

John repaid the comment with an equally insulting hand gesture. Sherlock, possibly as an act of good will, chose to ignore it.

"If we die in here, Sherlock," John spat out through gritted teeth, and ran a hand through his over-long hair (he did _hate_ it being longer that his habitual military cut, and he noticed a few grey hairs yesterday in the living room mirror), "from... oh, I don't know, a lack of air or something, _I swear to Christ _I will haunt you once I reach St Peter's Gate... and I don't care how short the gap will be, but I'll sure as Hell savour it."

Sherlock sighed, "Don't be so ridiculous, John... the wardrobe is hardly airtight... we won't perish from lack of oxygen as much as lack of water. Estimates give us between seventy-two and ninety-six hours, bearing that in mind."

Sniffing delicately, Sherlock dug his mobile phone out of his pocket to check for signal- no such luck, and Sherlock had never felt so regretful about anything as minute as three bars in the left hand corner of the screen- as John stared askance in reaction to the previous comment.

_Brilliant, so I won't die of suffocation, but thirst is a much more viable option. Fabulous._

"Seems to me that it'll be hunger more quickly than thirst- I haven't eaten since noon, and it's nearing midnight now!"

Sherlock snorted. "Overreacting as usual, John. I don't eat for days on end and I can assure you that I have not perished just yet."

_Well, let's not give up hope, _John thought nastily. He was aware that he was whining, but Sherlock was only getting his just rewards for causing such a monumental cock-up in the first place.

Sherlock looked over at John, leaning back with his eyes shut. He didn't like to admit that John was a wonderful asset to his work, but he would _die _rather than confess that he enjoyed actually spending time _alone _with the army doctor. John changed Sherlock's approach of deduction, his way of thinking... it almost became more... _human. _The detective wasn't sure as to whether he welcomed such change, but even he realised that it was particularly helpful to him in some incidents.

"In fact," Sherlock chose to continue, after a small silence, "I haven't eaten since Tuesday."

"Oh,_ please, _Sherlock! How you keep doing that, I'll admit, is beyond me," John burst, "but not _everyone _is like you!"

"John, please! Calm down!" Sherlock yelled, "The more you whine, the more _precious_ oxygen you'll be using up."

John groaned and banged his head back against the wall, but opted to wisely take Sherlock's advice, and remain silent for the next hour. The next sound that the pair heard came from the recesses of John's Barbour... his stomach rumbled uncomfortably, and John blushed.

Cheeks flushed bright red, he quickly looked away in embarrassment. _The last thing I need is to be ridiculed for my own bloody stomach growls..._

"Could you _please_ be quiet, I am trying to think," Sherlock barked derisively.

_...And there we have it_.

"Oh, _begging your pardon, _sir," John drawled in as sarcastic a manner that he could muster, "but considering that I haven't eaten for more than fourteen hours, my stomach is being rather... _uncooperative _today, you see."

With head now resting on his arms crossed over his hunched knees, Sherlock could feel the anger radiating off of his fair-haired companion. A twinge of what he supposed was guilt spasmed in Sherlock's chest, and he quietly answered, "We'll get food, John... just as soon as we're out of here."

A soft snort came from the huddle form opposite him. "Oh yes, let's just wait another couple of days before we can eat. Good plan, Sherlock, good plan," he mumbled, just as another stomach growl drowned out the end of his sentence- helpfully covering up the few choice insults John chose to produce.

Sherlock frowned- again, as much as he hated to admit it, seeing John in any kind of distress caused by him was unpleasant.

"Just... just, sleep... for a bit," Sherlock floundered, "and... I'll wake you up. When someone's here." _At the very least, you won't have the ability to whine anymore,_Sherlock thought.

John sighed, and looked up at Sherlock, "I don't have a bloody pillow."

"Oh, don't be so precious John, why-"

"My shoulder, Sherlock," John spat out, and glared whilst he straightened his legs. "I can't sleep on the floor... it makes my shoulder hurt." John shifted, and clasped his hands together to keep himself from wrapping them around his friend's scrawny neck, and twisting them as painfully as he could manage.

"Well," Sherlock mused, "you could possibly... sleep on my lap? It is not a bother to me, as long as you're quiet for a bit." Sherlock struggled out of his heavy Belstaff, and folded it elegantly as he crossed his legs in an easy position. He placed the Belstaff in the hollow that his position created, and looked at John expectantly.

John stared at Sherlock, and then down at the detective's lap. He swallowed what felt like gravel in his throat. _Am I supposed to lie _that_ close to his bloody crotch?! _John was loathe to the option- as much as he begrudgingly loved his consulting detective, he really was adverse to the idea of putting his head anyway near the other's genitals.

"But..." he began.

Sherlock sighed irritatedly. "God, John- just do it and stop being such an infant about the situation," he spat out.

"Argh! Fine! Fine," John surrendered, "just... just move a bit... so I've got more space..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but acquiesced. "A bit commanding, aren't we, doctor?" The detective raised his eyebrows after shifting slight to the right, more against the door. John laid down, resting his weight on his right hip, and tucking his legs in. Finally, with hands under his right cheek, he put his head on the Belstaff-pillow, but endeavoured to position his head as far away from Sherlock's groin as possible.

"Cheers," John admitted.

"Welcome. Now- _sleep_ John, please?" the detective almost begged, just as the doctor's eyelids drooped and his long blond eyelashes brushed against his cheeks. Shuffling a bit against a bony knee, John finally got himself comfortable and yawned.

"Okay, yeah... I'll-I'll... t-try..."

He had to say; Sherlock was annoying and overbearing in his _best _moments... but aside from the dry tongue and hunger pangs, being this close to his friend made him feel impossibly warm... and safe.

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